


Though We Share So Many Secrets (there are some we never tell)

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fake Marriage, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Rachel land themselves in witness protection together. Their new identities are definitely going to complicate things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though We Share So Many Secrets (there are some we never tell)

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a very, very loose understanding of how witness protection actually works and most of that understanding is from ridiculous movies that follow the same trope.
> 
> Have fun!

Quinn’s packed and unpacked three times already. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to take and what she’s supposed to leave behind. It’s not like she has that much, really. After graduating college, she moved into a small apartment in Queens and has been fairly resistant to clutter. She feels really good about it. With all she’s overcome in her life, already, the last thing she needs is to become some kind of hoarder.

Still, there are things she owns that are attached to memories and there are weird rules about what she can take with her. No pictures, no yearbooks, no tennis bracelets with her name engraved on them, nothing tying her to her current identity.

Agent Sanchez is taking her to the airport in less than half an hour. There isn’t even time for Quinn to see her mom before she leaves. She'd had to call her.

* * *

_“Mom?”_

_“Quinn, honey. How are you?”_

_“Not… not so good.”_

_“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Were you in--”_

_“I’m okay. I… Something happened the other night. Um… I saw something happen and it’s kind of a big thing and I can’t really tell you about it.”_

_“You saw..."_

_"I can't go into detail, but they're moving me for a while."_

_"Who, dear?"_

_"The... federal government? I'm not even sure I should say that much, but..."_

_"Oh my god."_

_"Yeah."_

_"How long?"_

_"Maybe a couple months? It depends on how long it takes them to--"_

_"Wait, is this line safe?"_

_"What?"_

_"In the movies they always talk about having a secure line."_

_"Oh, uh, yes. The agent said it's encrypted."_

_"You're sure."_

_"Yes. Oh... No. Yeah. Mom. It's safe. You're safe. I promise."_

_"And you?"_

_"I'll be okay. I'll be with... Well... I'll be with someone. I won't be alone."_

* * *

They've assured Quinn that she'll be able to send messages to her mother via proxy, once she's set up in her new location.

For now, she's managed to put half a dozen of her favorite outfits in her rolling suitcase, alongside at least three well worn Jane Austen novels and two NYT Bestsellers she hasn't read, yet. Her laptop and iPod are in her backpack with even one more paperback jammed in the front pocket.

When Agent Sanchez knocks on her door, Quinn's ready.

For the flight, anyway.

She doesn't know if she's ready for the rest of this.

It's nearly a five hour non-stop flight from New York City to Albuquerque. The time in the air is fine, but moving through both airports escorted by the FBI has Quinn feeling like she's drawing more attention than she would be traveling by herself.

Agent Sanchez, with her long dark hair and her seemingly constant displeased expression, reminds her a lot of Santana. Only a quieter version of her. Quinn doesn't think she's said more than ten words to her since they left New York. Her partner, Agent Beaumont, smiles frequently and is more talkative, though even she didn't really engage Quinn in that much conversation during the trip.

Now, though, Agent Beaumont is talking Quinn through what's about to happen, now that they're two thousand miles away from the scene of the crime and walking through the lobby of a Holiday Inn.

"We'll brief you in the hotel room, do one final sweep through all your personals, then take you to the safe house." Beaumont presses the button for the elevator and when it immediately opens, Sanchez waves Quinn inside.

"Is this where we get our new names?" Quinn asks.

Beaumont shakes her head. "Not just names. You have to start thinking of this as a new identity. I saw in your file that you studied drama at Yale. This should be familiar to you."

"It was theater studies, actually. And I had a focus on playwriting, not performance." Quinn watches Beaumont for a moment, perhaps just enjoying the act of the slight correction over her head, if even just briefly. "But, I get it. I can play a role. That's not anything new." The elevator dings and the doors open to the fourth floor.

"What about the other one?" Sanchez asks, removing the key card from the paper envelope she received at the front desk.

Quinn can't help the sure smile that moves across her face. "She can handle it."

The door to the junior suite clicks open and there, sitting on the sofa, looking like she's waiting for an audition instead of her latest instructions regarding her witness relocation identity, is Rachel.

* * *

It's not that they've fallen out of touch, it's just that they aren't as close as they once were. Or as close as Rachel thought they were on the precipice of being, once upon a time.

Nearly ten years have passed since high school and they've called the same city home for almost half that time. It's not that they don't see each other, because they do. At birthdays or the occasional brunch, but those are always events with other friends and there's never that much one on one time.

And, anyway, they've been busy. Quinn's climbing the corporate ladder and Rachel's performing nightly.

Or, they were. Right now, they're sitting next to each other on a too-firm sofa while a federal agent lays out their new lives. Literally. On the table in front of them are two manila envelopes, side by side.

Rachel moves to reach for the one closest to her, but the agent, Nash, the one who's been by her side since last night, shakes his head. "I just want to make it clear that you're to take these identities as seriously as you would your own lives. Because they are your own lives, now."

"Do we at least get to pick our names?" Rachel asks. "I was thinking maybe Roxie and Velma." She glances to Quinn. "You'd be Roxie, of course. Or... if you'd like to go the religious route, perhaps Naomi and Ruth? Oh, or I could be Estelle. It means star--"

Agent Nash clears his throat. "You don't select the names."

"Oh." Rachel frowns and leans back. "Well, that's no fun."

Quinn's arms have been crossed over herself since she sat down. "It's not supposed to be fun, Rachel."

"The literal role of a lifetime and I'm not supposed to find the thrill in it?"

"Can we just open the envelopes?" Quinn asks.

Agent Nash nods and both women quickly pick up their respective packets. Rachel nearly tears hers in half while Quinn primly peels the flap back on her own. They rummage through the contents to each find a New Mexico driver's license, a bank card, and a printout describing their new occupations.

"I just got all this less than an hour ago so, just give me a moment..." Agent Nash informs them, consulting the notebook in front of him. "Ah, okay, you two are Denise and Clarissa Jefferson." He flips a page back, then forward. "I guess you're sisters? You run Querque Crafts out of your home. It's an online business. Denise makes the product, Clarissa sells it through a web store. This gives you a cover that allows you both to work from home and generate an income."

Rachel studies her new ID. "Considering that I'm Denise and I'm making these crafts, can I know a little more about that?" She honestly thinks she’d enjoy crafting, if her attachment to her Bedazzler when she was fifteen is any indication.

"They are..." Nash consults his notes. "Southwest and country style wooden decorative objects."

"Okay, but am I using a template or are the bases going to be provided or--"

"Rachel, you're not actually making anything. It's a cover."

"Quinn, it's imperative that I understand the family business. What if someone approaches me on the street and wants to know details about my current work in progress?"

"That actually brings me to my next point," says Nash. "You need to stay out of public as much as possible."

"As in, I should go incognito?"

"As in, you should stay home unless it's absolutely necessary. You're a entertainment figure and you're familiar enough that it's not impossible for someone to recognize you. It's much less likely out here than it would be in, say, New Jersey, but it's still a possibility and we want to avoid as much risk as we can." He looks to Quinn. "You'll have a little more freedom, but I'd still recommend that you lay low. Stay out of trouble, don't draw attention to yourself."

Quinn nods. "I can do that."

"And you?"

Rachel holds the driver's license between her fingers, staring at the photo looking back at her. "Yeah."

"Excellent." He places one more envelope on the table. "This is some additional paperwork for emergency situations. Insurance records, tax forms, stuff like that. You probably won't need it, but just in case. If anyone asks, you're originally from Ohio."

Quinn looks at Rachel, then back at Nash. "But we... are from Ohio."

"Really? I thought you were both from the New York area."

"We are," Rachel says. "We're just originally from Ohio."

"Weird. No one's ever actually from Ohio." Nash taps his pen against the page. "Well, uh, are you from Akron?"

"No," Quinn answers.

"Okay, well, say you're from there."

"Can I be from Cleveland?" Rachel suddenly asks.

Quinn scoffs. "Why in the hell would you rather be from Cleveland?"

"They happen have some of the best theater in the state!" Rachel tosses her hair over her shoulder as she purposefully turns away from Quinn.

Nash watches the exchange in front of him and finally says,"All that really matters is that you just both agree on a city that isn't your own hometown. Any further personal details are up to you, so long as they don't draw unnecessary attention. Keep things simple, don't over-complicate them."

There's an affirming nod from Quinn. "Understood."

"Simple. I understand. But may we take a minute to go over the basics of these wooden decorative craft objects, just one more time?"

* * *

The house is a typical tract home, maybe 1500 square feet, three bedrooms, one and a half baths, and a two car garage. It’s a lot more space than either of them have grown accustomed to in their city lives. Some furniture has been provided, but the walls are sparse and the kitchen cupboards are just about empty. There’s bread, peanut butter, and instant coffee.

“I guess I’ll need to go shopping in the morning,” Quinn says. “Make a list and I’ll get whatever you need.”

Rachel rummages through the drawers. One holds a set of silverware, another has nothing but an ant trap in it. “I guess I’ll just have to text it to you, because there’s no paper in here.”

“Do you even know my number?”

“If that’s a jab about me not calling you, lately, I suppose I deserve it. But you’ve been a difficult woman to reach.”

“I mean, do you have the new number in that phone?”

Rachel examines the phone in her hand. They’ve both been issued new cell phones to avoid any possible tracking of their old ones. “Oh. Um. Yes, there you are. Clarissa.”

“So, think of what you want and text me the list.” Quinn proceeds to investigate the rest of the house. The pieces of furniture they’ve been given look like IKEA pieces. The sofa co-ordinates to the entertainment center (thankfully, there’s a smart tv mounted on the wall), the small dining table and chairs are a matching set, the bookshelves are all the same design. The shelves appear to be stuffed with whatever could be found cheaply, because it’s a mix of romance novels and those cheap classic editions they always have at places like Barnes and Noble. But with books and cable, they might be able to make it these next couple of months without totally losing their minds.

They have a computer, but their activity is apparently monitored. No social media allowed.

“I was thinking that we need to determine who we are.”

“You mean, who Denise and Clarissa are?”

“Yes. Given that we’re meant to be siblings, I think we need to determine our family dynamic. You know, who’s older--”

“I’m actually older than you, so let’s stick with that.”

“Sure. Also, who’s closer to mom, who’s closer to dad? Which one of us is possibly adopted?”

Quinn takes the turn down the short hall and spies the first bathroom, the half-bath. It’s generic, but it’ll do. “Why does one of us need to be adopted?”

“Quinn.” They’re standing side by side as they look at each other in the mirror over the sink. “Look at us. Either someone had an affair or one of us is adopted.”

“Sisters don’t always look totally alike. Frannie and I didn’t for a long time and then it’s really only because I actually altered my appearance that I look more like her, now.”

Quinn continues with her self-guided tour. There’s a small empty room next to the downstairs bathroom that’s supposed to be one of the three bedrooms, though it barely looks big enough to fit a full bed set inside. Rachel’s right behind her, peering past her shoulder.

“I think that’s the size of my first studio apartment.”

“You’re welcome to it if you think it will make you feel more at home,” Quinn taunts.

“I think I want to see all the options, first.”

“Whatever.”

They climb the stairs to the second floor. There’s a bedroom at the top of the landing, but it’s also empty, save for a small desk, chair and lamp.

“Maybe they’re still delivering furniture,” Rachel reasons.

The second bathroom is just as generic as the first, but the towels at least have a decent thread count and there’s plenty of counter space to accommodate the both of them. In theory.

“I want this one.” They both say it at the same time the second their eyes land on the interior of the final bedroom.

It’s nearly twice the size of the downstairs room, which is how the oak king bed and nightstand set manage to fit without any complication. A dresser rests against the far wall and there’s a wide window that looks out onto the neighborhood.

“Why should you get it?” Quinn asks.

“Because… I’m the baby of the family and I always struggled to get what I wanted?”

“Speaking as the little sister in my actual family, that’s bullshit.”

“We could… flip for it?”

It’s getting late and it’s been a long day for both of them, so Quinn really just wants to get some sleep. “Fine.”

“Should we download a coin flipping app?”

“Oh my god.” Quinn digs into the pocket of her skirt and finds the change from when she bought a magazine at the airport. “Here’s a nickel. Make it count.”

Rachel takes the coin and tosses it in the air, but she throws with such force that it bounces off the ceiling and hits Quinn in the head on the way down. Rachel’s eyes are wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry!” She’s about to bend down to pick it up, but Quinn grabs her by the shoulder and stops her.

“I’ll get it. Try not to blind me in the meantime.” Quinn finds the nickel and prepares to flip it, looking to Rachel. “Call it in the air.”

“Heads?” is Rachel’s immediate response.

Quinn shoots a glare at her. “In the air, Rachel, god.”

“Oh.” This time, she waits until the coin is flipping in the air, then she shouts, “Heads!”

Quinn catches it, cups it in her hand, then flips it over onto the back of her other hand. When she uncovers the nickel, it’s head side up. “Okay, fine. You get this room. I’ll… sleep on the couch tonight and figure out where the rest of the furniture is, tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? The bed’s really big. We could share it.”

“I just… I think I just want some quiet time to myself.” The appeal of sleeping in the bed is actually greater than Quinn’s desire for peace and quiet, but the idea of sharing it with Rachel is what leads to the eventual decision. She has no desire to be kept awake with questions about what their invented paternal grandparents look like or what ultimately led their faux parents to decide to adopt.

She just wants to sleep.

In the morning, her back is stiff and she has to take an extra long, extra hot shower to get it to relax. It’s probably worth the price of silence, though Quinn is already second guessing her choice, especially if they can’t get a bed delivered by tonight.

Meanwhile, though she has groceries on her mind.

Down in the kitchen, Rachel has made peanut butter sandwiches and two cups of Nescafe.

“Good morning, Quinn. How was your night?”

“Fine.” Quinn accepts the cup Rachel hands to her and picks up half a sandwich, leaning against the counter as she eats it.

“I was just finalizing my list. And… sent!” Rachel sets her phone down on the table. “Would you care to join me?”

“I’m right here.” But Quinn relents and takes the open seat across from Rachel. They chew and sip in silence, the sound of the clock on the otherwise bare wall ticking over their heads. While she eats, Quinn looks over the list Rachel just texted to her. “This says Hebrew National hot dogs.”

“Yes, I know. I made the list.”

“I don’t think they make veggie dogs.”

“I don’t want veggie dogs. I want the regular ones.”

“Okay, but… that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Quinn,” Rachel sets her coffee on the table and folds her hands in front of her. “We’re taking on new personas. Denise Anne Jefferson is not me. She’s as far from me as I can possibly get. While Rachel Berry is a vegetarian, Denise is not.”

“This is stupid.”

“This is survival, Quinn. Or, I should start calling you Clarissa, I suppose. That’s going to be more difficult.”

“This isn’t a lifelong reassignment. It’s maybe six weeks. Can we just agree that here, at home, we use our real names. It’s less weird.”

“Fine. But I’m planning to go method with this.”

“And I’m planning to go to the store. Text me if you forgot anything.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, in case you think of something.”

“It’s a thorough list.”

When Quinn gets in the car, she already has a headache.

Shopping isn’t that big of a deal. No one asks her anything, no one notices her, no one demands to know her life history. She makes her purchases and loads the bags into the back of the Subaru SUV that’s on loan to them from the FBI. It feels almost like a regular day, except for the part where she wonders if anyone’s monitoring her.

When she pulls into the garage, she can’t help feeling like maybe someone’s watching.

And it turns out that someone is, because someone rings the doorbell, once Quinn is inside.

“Rachel?” she calls out, quietly so that whoever’s at the door can’t hear her. She’s halfway up the stairs before she hears the sound of the blow dryer coming from the upstairs bathroom. “Crap.”

Quinn bounds back down the stairs and straightens her skirt before she reaches for the front door. Maybe it’s someone delivering the rest of the furniture. But she doesn’t remember seeing a truck on the street as she was coming back to the house. She peeks through the peephole and is able to see a woman, maybe ten years older than herself. There’s one more steadying breath, then the door swings open and Quinn’s all smiles, like the ten thousand watt kind she used to flash at everyone when she was queen of the cheer pyramid.

“Hello.”

“Oh, hi! So glad you’re home! I’m Amelia Hart, I live just across the street and I wanted to just drop by and say hello to the new neighbors.” Amelia offers Quinn a small gift basket of fruit.

“That’s so lovely of you. Thank you. I’m… Clarissa Jefferson and… uh… Denise is upstairs still getting ready.”

“I’m sure I’ll get a chance to meet her at some point,” Amelia replies, smiling. “You know, I’m in real estate myself, so when the house sold, I happened to see that it sold to you two and I was just telling my husband how nice it would be to have a new couple around. A lot of folks on this street are getting older and they just aren’t up for some of the fun stuff. We have an ultimate frisbee tournament every June and there’s always the Brubacker’s pool party next week, which is a neighborhood tradition and you absolutely should be there. I’ll make sure Janie gets you an invitation.”

“That’s…” There’s something about all of this that’s nagging at Quinn. It’s possible this woman just has a bunch of misinformation. Then again. “Could you just give me a moment. I… left the ice cream out. Just one second.”

“Oh, sure!”

Quinn pushes the door shut and dashes for the kitchen, where their identity packets are tucked into the drawer next to the sink. She opens the one full of emergency paperwork and pulls out the tax form. It’s for Clarissa M. and Denise A. Jefferson. Married, filing jointly. There are at least two years of forms with the same information.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Clarissa!” comes Rachel’s voice from the top of the stairs. “Do we have a guest?”

“Yes! Yes, we do!’ Quinn stuff the papers back into the drawer and slams it shut, before running to meet Rachel at the bottom of the steps. “Ra--”

“Did you just leave her out there alone? That’s so rude.” Rachel edges around her, quickly moving to address the woman on the porch.

“Wait, there’s something--”

But Rachel’s already opening the door and greeting Amelia with a smile. “Hi, I’m Denise Jefferson, so nice to meet you.”

The women shake hands. “I was just telling Clarissa here that I’m so thrilled you two have picked this little neighborhood because we just love making new friends.”

“Well, when we were looking for a new place, we were adamant about finding a nice community that reminded of us home. You know, our parents took such care in making sure our upbringing was--”

“Our parents have known each other for a long time,” Quinn interjects.

“Obviously, they have. Given that they’re our parents.”

Quinn scrambles for a counter because she doesn’t need their cover blown on the very first conversation they have with a stranger. “I… there are still groceries that need to be brought it.”

Fortunately, any complications that Rachel’s just created aren’t registered by Amelia. “Oh, I’ll let you ladies get back to your day! So great to meet you!”

“Thank you, we look forward to the pool party,” Quinn calls after her. The second the door shuts, Quinn falls against it.

“You almost blew that for us,” Rachel chastises.

“Me? No. That was you.”

“How?”

“Well, for starters, why are you even mentioning our parents and our upbringing to anyone. No one does that.” Quinn pushes herself away from the door, because they actually do have several bags of groceries to bring in and unload.

Rachel follows her. “I was building backstory.”

“You don’t just offer information. This isn’t a play. This is life. Trust me. I think I know a little about how this works.”

“I suppose.”

“And secondly, it turns out we’re not sisters.”

“Just because one of us is adopted doesn’t negate our family bond.”

“That’s not why. Oh my god, you’re so frustrating.” Quin sets the final bag on the kitchen counter. “No one’s adopted. You’re my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

“Check the paperwork.” Quinn slides open the drawer and Rachel immediately eyes the IRS forms on the top of the stack.

As Rachel reads the forms, she sags against the counter behind her. “Oh wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

“Well, it’s obvious that you took my name.”

“How is that obvious?”

“Denise Jefferson sounds much more natural than Clarissa Jefferson. I wonder what your maiden name was.”

“Are you going to stand there are ramble about names or do you think you can help me with this?”

“How long do you think we’ve been married?”

“I don’t know, but the honeymoon is definitely over.”


End file.
